Hidden Quartet
by paperbkryter
Summary: Four ficlets based on the Smallville episode Hidden
1. Chapter 1

**NIGHT FEARS**

* * *

Quiet finally descended once again to the yellow farmhouse.

Martha let out a long sigh as she sat down on the porch swing. Save for the chip of crickets and the faint whisper of cars on the distant highway, there was utter silence all around. It was what she needed the most after a day of ups and downs and events from which none of them could come back unscathed.

The swing creaked as she set it swinging with a push of her toe. She smiled as she looked in through the window to where Jonathan still sat with the newspaper folded upon his knee. His glasses sat askew on the end of his nose, precariously close to falling into his lap. He'd fallen asleep only moments before, at the conclusion of their quiet conversation.

_"Do you remember," _Martha had said. _"The time my father caught you sneaking out of my bedroom?" _

_"I'll never forget. I'm just glad he wasn't mad enough to have them do a cavity search." _

_"I talked him out of it."_

_"You know, after his initial anger at having to drive to Metropolis to bail me out of jail, my old man was actually kind of proud." _

_"Admit it, you're a little bit proud of Clark, too, aren't you." _

After some blushing hesitation, Jonathan had grinned mischievously and held up his thumb and index finger. _"A little bit."_

_"I thought so."_

She'd held him close then, and she'd laughed, but it had been laughter tinged with worry.

The swing gradually slowed to a stop. Martha stood up and went to the railing to look out over the farm. There were still telltale scars left over from the meteor shower. A broken fence here, a patch of bare earth there...If it hadn't been for the help of their friends and neighbors they couldn't have made the repairs that they had. Clark had lost his powers. Jonathan was...

_Not what he used to be._

Martha bit her lip and looked back over her shoulder into the house again.

He'd been strong for her that day, when she was still in shock and unable to comprehend what the doctors had told them.

_"We lost him."_

She hadn't believed it, not without seeing it, not without touching Clark's lifeless body with her own hands and confirming it. They'd brought him back from the brink of death before - just she and Jonathan. Professional doctors could not have failed in such a simple task.

Jonathan had believed. She'd seen it in his eyes, and instead of allowing his grief to claim him, his thoughts had been for his family. He had to protect Clark even in death. He had to protect his family. Clark's body would have to be found, hidden, so that no one would ever know the truth.

It was only later, when Clark returned alive, that Jonathan had let himself go. Clark retreated to the barn to heal the hurts his body didn't show and Jonathan had collapsed into a kitchen chair with his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking. Martha kelt before him. She saw how worn he really was, and when he'd fallen asleep on the couch, she'd quietly left him to his dreams.

She let herself back into the house.

From the hall closet she retrieved a blanket and tip-toed quietly into the living room. She moved the paper to the coffee table, and gently plucked Jonathan's glasses from the end of his nose. Her fingers caressed their spidery frames as she folded them carefully. He did not wake as she spread the blanket over him and kissed his forehead.

She moved silently around in the kitchen, picking up the odd dish here and there. In the freezer was a roast. Martha transferred it to the refrigerator to thaw. It would be a celebratory dinner. Perhaps Clark could invite...

Or maybe not.

Martha sighed and rested her forehead against the refrigerator door. Lana had been too overwhelmed to ask the obligatory questions. Clark would have to come up with some explanation for his resurrection before another day passed. The weight of it lay heavy on shoulders already strained to the breaking point.

_He's more vulnerable right now than he was when he was without his abilities. He's...fragile. _

_Or has he always been so close to the edge, and we just never realized it until now. Has death tempted him before?_

Biting her lip, Martha turned to the stairs. How many times had she made this trip over the years? How many times had she gone up the stairs and down the hall to peek in at her child while he slept? It had been a long time since she'd last felt the urge to do so. Clark was grown. He could take care of himself. He was safe, and nobody was going to take him away from her.

But today she'd come very close to losing him forever.

She cracked open the door as silently as she could. If he was awake at all he would hear her. He could have heard her all the way downstairs and probably into the next county.

_I smell Lana's perfume. Was that just this morning? He'd looked so happy, even when Jonathan was scolding him you could see it in his eyes._

The window was open. The curtain fluttered in the breeze, and moonlight bathed the room in silver. Clark lay face down on his bed, still fully clothed save for the boots that sat on the floor at the end of the bed. Martha watched the gentle rise and fall of his back and for a long time simply reveled in the fact he was indeed, alive. She pressed her fingers to her mouth to stifle a cry of relief.

_Alive. He's alive. Thank God._

Martha froze before her next thought. Clark had made a soft sound, a quiet hitch of breath. A moment later it came again, and this time Martha recognized it.

"Oh, honey," she breathed.

She remembered the nightmares he used to have when he was only five or six. Now that they knew more about his origins Martha understood them.

He dreamed about being locked in a small, dark, box. In the dreams he was afraid, and he called for her repeatedly but she wouldn't come. Nobody came. He was all alone in the dark.

In the middle of the night Martha would hear him cry out for her and she'd come rushing in to gather him up in her arms and hold him tight while he sobbed into her shoulder. For nearly a year she'd spent hours in his room at night, watching over him as if she could keep the nightmares at bay. She never could, and she had listened to this sound many times during those long, dark nights.

At eighteen, and no longer a child, Clark lay crying in his sleep once again.

Martha knelt beside the bed. She touched his hair and he stirred, turning his face toward her. His cheeks were damp and his eyes, as they fluttered open groggily, were still leaking tears.

"Mom?"

"I thought..." Martha began, and cut herself off. "I wanted to check on you. I'm sorry. Go back to sleep." She started to rise, but he reached out a hand and stopped her.

The bed creaked as he sat up, looking incongruously large against the backdrop of his child-sized bedroom. He pulled Martha up to sit beside him. Their eyes met for a moment and Martha felt her chest tighten with a fear she could not define. It was Clark who looked away first, wiping at his face with trembling fingers. Martha rose, pulled a tissue from the box beside the bed, and handed it to him.

"Thanks." He wiped his nose. His head remained bowed, his eyes focused on the rug.

"You want to talk about it?" she asked.

He shook his head.

Martha said nothing else. She and Jonathan both knew what he was hiding. Jor-El never did anything for free, and the price he'd demanded this time was apparently high. What it was, they could only guess, and they could not force Clark to tell them. They had taught him to lie. They would have to suffer the consequences.

They would have to pay the price.

She thought of Jonathan lying asleep on the couch, his reading glasses slowly sliding down his nose as he sank deeper into the cushions. Despite herself, she felt her own eyes burn with the sting of tears.

"Mom." Clark's voice was pleading.

And Martha gathered herself again. She rubbed his shoulder. Rising, she went to the dresser. The top drawer squeaked as she pulled it open. She'd have to get some wax to put on it sometime in the near future. She brought a pair of pajamas back and put them in Clark's lap. Her hand strayed automatically to his hair, rumpling it.

The smile he gave her was genuine, and so sweet it went straight to her heart, shattering it. "You haven't done that since I was little," he said.

"Then it's been far too long," Martha replied. She bent, and kissed him on the cheek, and when she tasted the fleeting remnants of his tears, she could no longer hold her own back. A sob choked off her words of apology.

He pulled her into his embrace. She wrapped her fists into his shirt.

"I love you so much, Clark. I was so afraid..."

"I know," he said, and hugged her perhaps more tightly than he should have. Martha felt his desperation, and his fear, in the way he crushed her breath from her. "Mom...Momma." His breath hitched, and the tears began in earnest.

* * *

Martha woke up to the sound of birdsong, and the clink of dishes. Through the open window she caught the scent of roses from what remained of her garden and wafting up the stairs the smell of bacon. She sat up and found herself in her own bed, still wearing her clothes from the day before.

Disoriented, she rose to her feet and looked in the mirror. Her hair was mussed. Streaks of dark mascara stained her cheeks.

_I must have fallen asleep in Clark's room. He must have put me to bed. How the tables have turned. _

She took the time to wash her face and change before making her way downstairs.

At the bottom of the stairs she stopped.

Her "boys" were both standing at the stove, quietly talking about some mundane thing leagues away from alien resurrections, loss and sacrifice. Jonathan smiled at something Clark said under his breath, and sipped his coffee from the ugly cow mug Martha took great pleasure in hiding from him. (He always found it again.) Clark stirred a pan full of scrambled eggs, and then, with a quick flip of his wrist, turned a pancake. The table was made, and dressed with a bouquet of pink and yellow tulips Martha knew Clark hadn't found anywhere in Kansas.

Sun streamed in through the windows. Outside a cow lowed and Shelby nosed his way in through the screen door to come sit at Clark's feet. Jonathan slipped him a piece of bacon.

Martha stepped down into the kitchen. "Jonathan Kent, you'll spoil that dog."

And suddenly the night fears were all but forgotten.


	2. Chapter 2

**BARRIERS**

* * *

Lana returned home from the mansion just as the sun dipped below the horizon. The sky was streaked with red, and orange and purple, looking like the multihued veil of an exotic dancer had been cast out over everything. Downtown was deserted. Few shops remained open late on a Sunday, if they were open at all. The lights at the Talon were off. Lana pulled behind the building and parked.

All the chaos of the day was beginning to take its toll. Exhaustion hit her like a tidal wave. Physically and emotionally exhausted, all she could do for several minutes was sit in her car with her head bowed. She might have dozed off but for the words that kept circling around and around in her mind like a swimming shark.

_"Whatever lie he told you this time..."_

She clenched her fists around the steering wheel.

Clark hadn't told her anything. He'd barely said two words to her. He'd simply held her so tightly she could feel the beating of his heart against her chest and the dampness of tears against her cheek - his tears, not hers. Lana had felt his hands shaking as he'd put her down and cupped her face between them. Any questions she may have had were whisked away by his kiss.

And then the Kents were there, Jonathan and Martha, hurrying Clark away. He needed to go back to the hospital, to make sure he was okay. He needed to rest.

_"Lana, why don't you come back tomorrow." _

She raised a hand to her chest, recalling how she thought her heart would burst when she first saw him standing there in the foyer. He'd been dead. She'd seen it. She'd felt it when she'd touched him and the coldness of his flesh sent chills up her arms. Somehow he'd come back; ragged and torn and smelling of smoke he'd scooped her up in his arms as if nothing at all were wrong with him. Lana's joy had been tempered by a dark thought, one that had kept her from asking him outright how he could possibly be alive.

_Something has changed._

Part of her rationalized that anyone who had come back from the dead _would_ be changed somehow, but she knew her thought came from a different source. The last couple of months had produced some of the happiest days of Lana's life. Clark was all lightness and joy, smiles and laughter, but more than that she'd seen almost a reversal of his personality. He'd become more outgoing, less introspective, like the prison doors had swung open to release him into the world. His mission was to please her and unlike before, he never seemed to have any other pressing engagement that would keep him from her side.

Somewhere between death and resurrection, the doors had slammed shut again.

_"Normal people don't rise from the dead."_

Lana got out of the car, heading for the back stair that would lead her into her apartment. She had read Clark's medical file before she'd presented it to Lex. Clark's tests were normal. He was human, thoroughly human.

He also should have been dead. Machines can malfunction, and doctors could make errors, but Lana didn't see how they could have been mistaken about a hole through one lung and a massive loss of blood. Even if her own eyes had deceived her, there was no way Clark could have suddenly shown up _walking around _only hours after being shot. It just didn't happen.

Only - in Smallville - it sometimes did.

If Tina Greer hadn't been proven beyond a shadow of a doubt to be dead, actually killed in a confrontation with Clark himself, Lana would have turned and run right out of the Kent's house the moment she'd seen Clark standing there. If she hadn't known that the serum used to bring Adam back to life had been a failure, she would have insisted on taking Clark back to the hospital herself to make sure no trace of the drug was in his system.

She paused with her hand on the door.

Did it matter? He was alive. The pain and horror at watching him die had been miraculously taken away. He was alive, whole, and still loved her with all his heart.

"But," she whispered. "Something has changed."

The door creaked quietly as she pushed it open. Closing it behind her, she set her bag down, and moved into the living room where she stopped.

Candles had been lit all around the room. They filled the apartment with a warm, orange glow and the faint scent of a country garden. The scent complimented the big vase of wildflowers that sat on the coffee table. A yellow ribbon had been tied around the top of the vase. The bow was crooked. It made Lana smile.

He'd been waiting for her long enough to have fallen asleep on the sofa, slumping sideways with his head cradled in the sofa's corner, and his legs hanging over the edge. One hand rested upon his chest, the other trailed off the cushion. A note of fear rose in Lana's heart until she heard him sigh, and saw the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath his hand. He was asleep, just asleep, and very much alive.

That morning she'd awakened to the sight of him lying asleep beside her. His features had been soft, relaxed, and his whole body radiated contentment. Had the alarm not went off he might have slept on, as he sometimes did when they met here in her apartment, until she fell asleep again herself. He'd wake her with a kiss. They'd make love, and try to resist the temptation to stay in bed all day.

She could see the change. His features were tense. His eyes rolled in REM dreams that obviously distressed him. Worry lines creased his brow and as Lana watched a muscle twitched in a jaw clenched tight. Though he slept, he did not rest easily.

Lana stood before him. It took little more than a flick of her finger to unbutton the bottom two buttons of his shirt. A layer of thick white gauze and tape were revealed beneath the red plaid. She hesitated. It would be a betrayal of trust to look.

Or would it?

He had not told her anything. She had seen the wound before.

Carefully she slipped her fingernail beneath the tape. The bandage pulled at his skin, and she stopped quickly. Clark did not stir.

Lana pulled the bandage back.

The bandage was the first lie, unspoken, but still a deception.

_"So we return to this_," she thought.

Her fingers ran lightly over the flawless surface of his skin. She traced the curve of his ribs. The X-rays had shown one clearly fractured by the bullet's passage, but now it had been made whole again. No wound, not a scratch, could be found. Clark had not only been resurrected, but he'd been completely healed.

She pushed the bandage down and smoothed the tape along its edges, sealing it as it had been. His shirt fell back as he mumbled in his sleep, and Lana sat down on the couch beside him, reaching out as if she had been shaking him awake.

"Clark?"

His eyes popped open. Blinking rapidly he sat up, alarmed, but upon seeing her he relaxed and smiled at her sheepishly.

"Guess I dozed off."

"Who could blame you," Lana said quietly. Her smile was not quite forced. "You had a rough day. Are you...feeling okay?"

Clark nodded around a yawn.

"What did the doctor say?"

She knew the Kents had never gone back to the SMC. She'd heard when the hospital contacted Jonathan Kent he claimed he would never let Clark into their hands again, and would be taking him to Metropolis instead. In effect, they had made it so people would question the competency of the doctors and not Clark's miraculous recovery. It perhaps wasn't quite so miraculous.

"I shouldn't do anything too strenuous for a while," he replied, but his eyes flickered sideways and she knew he was lying. No one had said any such thing.

Lana looked at him. He avoided her gaze until she reached over to take his hand. "Don't," she whispered. "Scare me like that again."

"Trust me," Clark smiled. "I don't plan on it."

He relaxed a little as she stroked his hand. She could still see the change in him. Whatever shackles he'd worn before, bound him once more. It was in the set of his shoulders, and the haunted look in his eyes. Where his body touched hers she could feel the tension. Had she held a bomb in her hand it would feel the same way; as if there were some great power within just waiting to be set free. It disturbed her.

She looked up to find him looking down at her. His fingers were gentle against her face, his kiss soothed away her worries. His affection could not be denied.

"All I remember," he whispered. "Is hearing your voice, and seeing you smile. I thought I was already in heaven."

Lana shook her head wryly. "You're feeding me a line."

"Yeah, but I thought it was a good one."

They laughed, but Clark quickly sobered. He stared at her longingly. Lana felt guilt warring with a sense of relief inside her. She couldn't sleep with him. Not now.

"Nothing too strenuous, remember." She got up from the couch. "I don't want you back in the hospital."

He blushed. "I wasn't thinking that...but...yeah. Maybe we should take it easy for a while."

Lana nodded. "Are you hungry?" she asked lightly. "Give me a minute and I'll make something."

"Sure."

She went into the bathroom and closed the door behind her. Quickly she flipped on the switch for the fan, and turned on the water in the sink.

A moment later she sat down on the edge of the tub, hiding her face in her arms to muffle the sound of her sobs. The grief that had encompassed her earlier overtook her once more. She couldn't hold it back any longer.

The Clark she'd always wanted, the one who told her the truth, who made her feel safe, was dead. At the center of her grief was her own guilt, shame, and horror because she could not help wondering if it would have been better for her to have nothing at all than for this other Clark to return.

"I'm afraid. I'm afraid of him," she whispered.

It took her some time to pull herself together. She washed her face, changed her shirt, and came out of the bathroom with an apology on her lips. The look on his face stopped her.

"Clark?"

He looked as if he'd been shot again and someone had poured salt in the wound. Grief twisted his features, and harshened his voice. "Lana, I..."

"What is it?"

"I better go."

He would not look at her. Instead he moved toward the door. She followed and he all but shut the door in her face. It brought her up short. Her first thought brought to her an impossibility - had he heard her?

Her breath caught in her throat as she flung open the door.

"Clark, wait!"

The stairs were empty, the alley deserted. He was gone as if he had never been there at all.

Lana quietly closed the door. She sat down on the sofa where the pillows retained Clark's warmth. She curled up in them, savoring that warmth and the faint scent she recognized as his that remained in the air. After a few minutes she picked up the phone and dialed his number. She didn't expect him to answer, but he did.

Reaching for a throw blanket, Lana curled up still further into the cushions. "Clark?"

"Yeah?"

"You didn't kiss me good-night," she said.

The relief in his voice was unmistakable.

"I'm sorry," he said, and after a pause, "I love you. You know that don't you?"

Lana wrapped her free arm around her knees. "I know. I love you too."

Seconds later she heard his quiet knock at her door and she got up to collect her kiss.


	3. Chapter 3

**MY BAD**

* * *

Chloe met Lana at the Talon to help her pack. It seemed that she wasn't the only one Lex had fallen afoul with lately. Chloe was still unsure if Lana was moving out on her own, or if Lex had summarily evicted her. Either way, Chloe had a roommate again.

"Hello?" she called, as she pushed open the apartment door. "To facilitate your move, I've brought pizza. It's a fundamental requirement of any relocation."

Lana didn't respond. She didn't even look up as Chloe entered. Instead she sat on the edge of her sofa looking as if someone had hit her in the back of the head with a board. Chloe set the pizza and a six-pack of soda down on the kitchenette counter. She stepped warily into the living room because, after all, this was Smallville and there was a good chance Lana could turn into a flesh-eating meteor mutant.

_Good-bye pizza, hello Chloe-burger._

"Lana?"

There was a pause, a blink, and Lana whispered. "It's pink."

Chloe arched a brow. She hadn't seen Lana wearing pink in ages. After Paris, pink had become the anti-color to be purged from one's wardrobe at all costs. Right now Lana was wearing a navy blue t-shirt and jeans. No pink was in sight.

"I beg your pardon? What's pink?"

Lana looked up at her. "The stick. The stick turned pink?"

"Oohkaaaaaaayeeeee…."

"I peed on the stick and it turned pink."

It took Chloe a minute, primarily because she was surprised that Lana would be so forthcoming about her bathroom habits. Even when they'd lived together before Lana had almost been – stealthy – about relieving herself. The words "pee" and "stick" fluttered around in Chloe's head until coming together in an epiphany that nearly knocked her off her feet. No wonder Lana looked so stunned.

"You're pregnant!"

Lana sat poised on the edge of a breakdown – because answering the question would confirm what she was trying to avoid admitting to herself. She choked out a "yes."

"Is it." _Please say no._ "Clark's?"

Lana shot Chloe a "look" before getting up from the sofa. She began to pace, wringing her hands together as she spoke.

"Of course it's Clark's!"

"Well I thought, maybe Jason…." Chloe's shoulders slumped. "I don't know what I thought."

_"Ew", may have been in there somewhere._

"What?" Lana stopped and stared at her. "What was that look?"

"What look?"

"You looked grossed out."

"Sorry, I just…kinda got a vision of the chest popping scene from Aliens in my head," Chloe blurted. She winced sympathetically.

"You're not funny, Chloe." Lana turned away from her and went into the kitchenette, rummaging around in a box for a couple of plates for their pizza.

"I wasn't trying to be," Chloe whispered under her breath.

_Oh, man. Clark is going to freak._

"So what are you going to do?"

"I'm going to call my doctor, make an appointment. Try to confirm it." Lana put the plates down and leaned heavily against the counter. "Don't say anything, Chloe."

"Okay," Chloe said uneasily. "I won't say anything."

* * *

"First word, first syllable," Clark said. He was sitting on a hay bale in the loft, with Shelby sitting next to him. When he gave Chloe his confused puppy look, the dog copied it. Under another circumstance it might have been funny. "Chloe why are we playing charades?"

"Work with me Clark." She continued to make sawing motions. "Come on."

He sighed. "Saw?"

Chloe nodded and cupped her ear.

"Sounds like saw? Maw? Caw? Taw…."

Frowning, Chloe stopped her mad gesturing and stared at him. "Taw? What the hell is 'taw'?"

"I tot I taw a puddy cat."

"Clark!"

He laughed. "Okay. Hmm…paw. Law….law? Law. Okay. First word, first syllable is 'law.' "

Nodding vigorously, Chloe made gestures for the second syllable. Clark gave a long-suffering sigh. Shelby sighed too, and lay down on the floor. He watched Chloe intently as if waiting for her bouncing around to somehow manifest itself into treat dispensing. Clark scratched is elbow and wrinkled his nose in thought.

"Okay, second syllable. Sounds like…."

Chloe shook her head. Then she shook her head and pointed at herself shaking her head.

"No?"

She made "more" gestures.

"Ney? Naught? Nada. Nah….nah? Law-nah? Lana!" Clark frowned. "Lana? What about Lana?"

With a sigh, Chloe made a sweeping gesture from breast to crotch.

_See, I'm not saying a WORD. Promise kept._

Clark blinked at her. "Huh?"

Rolling her eyes, Chloe made the gesture again.

"Fat? Lana is fat?"

_God in heaven, is he really THAT obtuse?_

Chloe repeated the gesture a third time, but added to it the motion of rocking a baby in her arms. She pantomimed giving it a bottle and cooing at it. Coupled with the first gesture the concept was unmistakable.

And of course, this time Clark got it. His eyes widened. His mouth popped open, closed, popped open again.

_He looks like a fish._

Chloe's amusement didn't last long, for after that every bit of color drained out of Clark's face until he looked as white as a clown in full make-up.

"Clark?"

_Danger Will Robinson, his eyes are rolling back._

"Clark!" Chloe rushed forward, grabbed a handful of hair, and shoved his head between his knees. Shelby stood up and started barking at her. Chloe growled back and the dog cowered.

Clark's voice was muffled. "I'm going to be sick."

"Not on my watch. You just keep your head down."

"Chloe…."

"I promised I wouldn't say anything."

Clark jerked his head up, nearly taking Chloe out in the process. "So you made me play charades!"

"Well…I thought you should maybe have advance warning, considering the whole not-human, alien from another planet thing you've got going." She stepped back as he stood up and walked away from her. "It may or may not be true. It was one of those tests from a box, and she said the stick was pink but I thought it looked sort of purple…."

There was a groan from the father-to-be.

"Well, uh…look at the bright side, Clark. Technically speaking you were human when you…you know…conceived. I mean, like, we've never really covered whether or not your race looks human or if you really look like a gelatinous blob of orange goo…." Waving a hand, Chloe took a seat on the hay bale he'd just departed. "If you were human then she probably won't have a tentacle come out of…."

"Chloe!"

"I'm upset!" Chloe shouted back. "I'm in gibber mode!"

"_You're_ upset!" Clark grabbed double fistfuls of his hair. "My parents are going to KILL me."

"At least Nell won't come after you with a shotgun, or if she does, it'll bounce right…."

"Chloe!"

"Gibbering!"

"Aaaugh!"

"Clark, calm DOWN. We're not even sure yet."

"She peed on the stick! It turned pink!"

"You're hysterical."

"DAMN STRAIGHT I'M HYSTERICAL!"

Chloe crossed her arms over her chest with a frown.

Clark sat, rather abruptly, and put his head between his knees again. Shelby ducked under one of Clark's legs to lick him in the face.

"I'm doomed," he said, muffled. "Tie me to a chunk of Kryptonite and toss me in Crater Lake."

"Lana has a doctor's appointment tomorrow. Wait until she gets those tests results back before you do anything drastic."

Clark raised his head. "And if they come back positive?"

Chloe bit her lip. "Then maybe you should start thinking of baby names. Nicholas is nice."

"You're a real help."

"Just keep in mind - I don't do diapers."

Clark ducked his head again with a groan.

* * *

"I'm not pregnant," Lana blurted.

Chloe sighed. "Oh good."

"Yeah," Lana mumbled. She bit her lip and nodded. "Yeah, that's a good thing, right?"

"Lana…." Chloe said warningly. "You and Clark are waaaay far away from that kind of responsibility."

_I know Clark is. If he's slept a wink in three days I'll be surprised. And I didn't know it was humanly - or not humanly - possible to eat that many boxes of Ding Dongs in one sitting._

"Yeah, I still…I still think he's keeping something from me, Chloe and..." She paused. "And he's been very…withholding lately."

"With…" Frowning, Chloe struggled to figure out what she meant. When realization dawned, she couldn't help but blush. "Maybe he's having a problem with…." She made an "up-down" gesture with one finger. "You know?"

"Isn't he a little young for Viagra?" Lana laughed. "And no, I know for a fact that's not the problem. Ever since he got hurt he's been very reluctant to go any further than making out."

Chloe had another "tentacle" moment and grossed herself out.

"Maybe, considering the scare you just had, that's a good thing."

"I think the condom broke," Lana said absently. "He's good at busting…."

"Ack!" Chloe held up a hand. "Too much information. Tell me any more and I'll embarrass myself looking at his crotch every time I'm around him."

"You do anyway, Chloe."

"I do not!" She really blushed this time. "Okay, maybe once or twice, but I am definitely not treading into your territory, I swear!"

Lana scowled. "My territory is somewhat dysfunctional at the moment."

"So are you really, relieved?"

There was a long pause as Lana considered this. "Yeah, I think I am. Maybe one day though…." She smiled dreamily.

Chloe, meanwhile, thought of toddlers who could set things on fire with their eyeballs.

"Yeah," she muttered. "Have fun with that."


	4. Chapter 4

Since the day she'd met him, Chloe realized Clark had issues. His lack of self-confidence, his social ineptitude, and his head-in-the-clouds mentality had been a source of frustration for years. She'd looked at him every day and thought there had to be something wrong with him. Someone as handsome, intelligent and kind as he was should be more popular, more - out there - than he was.

The niggling suspicion that he might possibly be a meteor mutant flying under the radar started their freshman year of high school, when Chloe's confidence in her meteor rock theories grew and freaks seemed to come out of the woodwork. She speculated puberty had something to do with the sudden onslaught of homicidal mutants, and waited for Clark to go over the edge.

He came close a couple of times, but always seemed to manage to pull himself out of the tailspin that would lead him down the path to Belle Reve. Chloe was pleasantly surprised.

When she found out her theories were correct, she was surprised again, because in her experience most meteor mutants only had ONE mutant ability. Clark had three or four. That answered the "why is Lionel Luthor so interested" question. Basically, Clark was the mother lode of meteor freaks.

Chloe was feeling rather smug about her knowledge until Clark picked everything up, shook it, and dumped it out on the floor with yet another revelation. He was NOT a meteor mutant, never was a meteor mutant, wasn't even a human being in any way, shape or form. (Okay, shape wise he did fall into the human category, and Chloe liked his shape, but that was neither here nor there.)

She was as disappointed as she was excited. Her theories were wrong, but she made first contact. Of course in typical Clark fashion, he yanked the rug out from under her again by losing his powers before she even got the chance to enjoy watching him use them in front of her. Chloe wanted to see the "real" Clark, and she felt gypped.

Still, it did give her a chance to study "human" Clark for a little while, and she could see that all the things she'd thought he could be were there all along. It had been his abilities that shut him off, and sadly, that made sense. Without them he was more confident. He smiled more, laughed often, and was no longer the brooding wallflower. The need to help others, however, was still there, and if anything it was stronger. He never hesitated to lend a help to anyone who needed it, perhaps because without his abilities there was no risk of discovery.

This made Clark's death real. It was the human Clark who died, and the alien that was resurrected. Clark spent several days in mourning. Chloe did her best to help him, but in the end, left him to brood. Eventually, however, she could not longer stand herself and had to pay a visit.

When she climbed to the top of the stairs she found Clark standing shirtless in front of a mirror. This gave her a moment of hesitation. She hadn't noticed Lana's car anywhere out front but if Lana was there Chloe definitely didn't want to interrupt the goings-on. As it was, she had a good blush worked up prior to figuring out that Lana was not in attendance and Clark had other things on his mind - and on his fingers.

He seemed to be wrestling with a very large and apparently very sticky Band-Aid, which had not only gotten stuck to his hand, but had folded over onto itself. As Chloe watched, Clark managed to get his fingers free, but in the attempt to unstick the Band-Aid from itself, he ripped it in half. In the frustrated hand flapping that followed half the Band-Aid wrapped itself around his fingers, and the other piece wound up firmly to the side of his head. Chloe finally busted up laughing as he spun around in circles looking for the missing piece.

"Do you need some help?"

Clark turned to look at her. His wide-eyed expression was enhanced by his Band-Aid problems. The left hand bit had turned his fingers into lobster claws. The left hand bit stuck out from the side of his head in a tangle of dark hair just over his ear. Apparently Chloe missed the part where he'd lost control of two others. One was melded into the thigh of his jeans and another was stuck to his right armpit.

Chloe pointed to the one under his arm. "You know, if you were human, that would hurt like heck when you pull it off."

He ducked his head and looked. The exasperated look on his face was priceless. He raised a hand to remove the Band-Aid only to find that his fingers were stuck together.

"Here," Chloe said. She laughed as she pushed his arm up. "Let me."

"Thanks," he sighed.

Carefully, Chloe removed the errant Band-Aids one by one. He didn't even flinch. They were very sticky, but she managed to wad them up into a ball and deposit them on his desk before picking up the box.

"Where?" she asked.

He pointed to the spot just over his ribs where only flawless skin was visible.

Chloe peeled off the paper backing, and stuck the Band-Aid over the place he'd indicated.

"Clark, this should have killed you," she said absently.

"It did," he replied.

She looked up at him. "And yet here you are. Do you really think Lana believes that crazy story you fed her about body snatching orderlies in the human body parts business?"

Clark walked away from her. He pulled a shirt from the back of his desk chair and put it on. "I never said that. I just told her I don't remember how I got out of the hospital, and that's the truth, Chloe. I remember seeing her there, and then nothing until I woke up in the Fortress."

"And rumors of your snatching were greatly exaggerated?"

He shrugged. "Doctors make mistakes. It was worse than it looked."

"Does Lana know you think she's stupid?"

The glare was somewhat frightening, especially since Chloe knew he had his powers back.

"I don't think she's stupid. I'm just...she just needs to trust me."

Chloe crossed her arms over her chest. "Why? You don't trust her." He tried to evade by moving toward the stairs. Chloe pursued. "Clark, you're more frightening to her now than you probably would be if you told her the truth. Trust me on this. It's not fun going around thinking someone close to you could go homicidal meteor freak at any moment."

The line got crossed somewhere back at the word "stupid" and Chloe knew anything she said after would be pushing her luck. Still, when her luck ran out, it took her by surprise.

Clark turned around so fast, with such an infuriated look on his face, her first instinct was to turn and get the hell out of Dodge. It was a pointed reminder of the time in Metropolis when she'd confronted him and he'd quite literally thrown her out of his apartment. She'd had bruises on her arms for weeks.

"DON'T YOU THINK I KNOW THAT!" he roared.

How quickly he vanquished sweet, bumbling Band-Aid Boy. Chloe stood there, blinking, but she stood there. Holding her ground, she appealed to the human side.

"I want to help, Clark. You're my friend. So is Lana. I don't want to be caught in the middle when everything blows up - and it will."

"Chloe..."

"Tell her, Clark," Chloe said softly.

He deflated visibly.

"I wouldn't steer you wrong, you know I wouldn't. Even if..."

She stopped, shocked at herself for almost going where she knew she shouldn't. Hopes that he had not caught her meaning, nor the wistful note in her voice, were dashed by the expression of inquiry that appeared on his face.

"Even if what?"

Chloe turned away, finding a distraction in the pile of books on his desk. He was taking some hard hitting classes. There was an excuse to avoid spending too much time with Lana. He would be lost in his studies.

"Nothing," she said.

"I thought," Clark said from behind her. "You were a big girl now."

It grated. Chloe found her own temper flaring. "You know, I meant that." Abruptly she turned back around. "I can't help my feelings, but I can control them, and I hate to say it but right now I'm glad it's Lana going through this and not me." Like his, her burst of anger faded quickly. Her voice softened. "Can't you see, Clark? If she truly loves you, she won't care what you are. It's who you are that matters."

"You can truly love someone, Chloe, and still realize that the best thing for both of you is to be apart." His eyes bore into hers. "We both know that."

Her chest tightened. "Clark..."

He sat down at the desk, fiddling with the now empty Band-Aid box. "I'm selfish, Chlo. I don't want to give her up, even if it's for her own good."

"Or yours?" she asked. "Every time you lie to her it takes a toll. I can see it if you can't. Like I said, I hate being in the middle here, Clark. Both of you are my friends. Both of you are hurting." Her hand reached out to his, plucking the box from his fingers. "It's like a Band-Aid. Pull it off slowly and it hurts more, but if you just get in there and yank it off..."

Clark didn't respond. He sat there looking down at his feet.

"Think about it," Chloe whispered. She put the box down, and tried to lighten her voice. "There's a party at Crater Lake this weekend. It's sort of a graduation/end of summer blow-out."

"Yeah, I heard."

"Will you be there?"

"Yeah."

Nodding, Chloe made her way to the stairs. "All right. I'll see you then, okay. I've got to run back to Metropolis with one last load of stuff." She paused. "You know, I could use a hand."

Clark still looked morose. He didn't look up at her, but his voice betrayed him. "I don't work for free."

Chloe felt a deep rooted sense of relief. He was thinking. She could tell.

And he loves me.

She shoved that thought away. "Hey," she said. "I put your Band-Aid on for you."

He stood up with a wry grin and joined her at the stairs. "Last one to your house buys the pizza."

Chloe blinked. "What?"

And he was gone.

She hurried down the stairs. "Wait a minute! No fair!" she shouted, laughing. "Unlike some people, I have to obey speed limits!"


End file.
